Snapshots
by skittlestars
Summary: What reminds the NCIS team of thier childhoods? Slight spoiler to "Broken Bird". Pre NCIS AU childhood fic. Some Heavy Tiva and implied McAbby. Gabby in the last chapter. NOW COMPLETE! PLEASE REVEIW!
1. Tony

McGee- Well, what reminds you of your childhood?

He'd only said it in passing. A pathetic, McMacintosh attempt at a comeback. Of Course, Tony told himself, what on earth did you expect from a guy who'd had all the computers he'd ever owned in his life mailed to him?

But somehow, those words had stayed with him, and Tony Dinozzo found himself sitting his sofa, on his fifth beer, his senses too dulled to acknowledge anything about the movie on his flat screen other than it had some hot woman in a naughty Santa suit. Geez, wasn't this for kids?, he wondered.

He took a long gulp of Budweiser and sighed, as rain beat out an intoxicating rhythm on his roof and thunder cracked in the distance.

*  
Crack!

Wood hit canvas and the ball went flying high over the Height's Little League diamond, arcing in the sky and eclipsing the sun before dipping down and disappearing behind the dewy, lush shrubbery that fenced the park.

He was mobbed. A blur of eight-year-olds,all laughing and shouting, celebrating their victory with sloshed Gatorade and a show of small gloves in the sky. Never mind that it was the kid who dressed in sailor suits with a funny last name who watched all these dorky movies with talking instead of robots.  
They were winners, and he couldn't have felt more secure and safe and worthy than he did enveloped between admirers.

*  
Crack!

His beefy hand collided with the boy's face. 'Are you crazy, Tony? You gonna let your school slip just 'cause some meathead football coach said you have a chance? A chance? You won't get through life taking chances, goddammit! You're risking everything, y'know that? You get nowhere taking risks! You stick to the plan like we talked about, got it?'

He wipes the blood from his face and smirks. 'No.'

And he stares on, as his name is slashed from the will and porcelain and silver are thrown to destruction around him. As his father's voice grows louder, he rides high on his dreams. This is not forever. Eventually, that plunge will end in the waters of paradise.

*  
Crack!

Through the thunder, Tony hears the phone ring. As if by instinct, he knows it's Ziva. Gibbs would call his cell. McGoogle would e-mail him. Abby would be on her fourth call. He wipes the beer from his lips.

Maybe it is time to say Yes. He's been waiting for paradise long enough. 


	2. Gibbs

He had heard McGee and DiNozzo in the men's room earlier, discussing baseballs and computers. Boys things, that he feared would never be out of his agents systems. At least Officer David hadn't been in it with Battleship and GI Joes, Leroy Jethro Gibbs smirked to himself.

In the fading light of his basement, wood met blades, hammers, and nails. His rough hands caressed the boat's smooth bow, stained with red wine. He slowly moves to the starboard, not quite done, still in need of sanding. He takes the sander in his hands and loses himself in the memories, though he'd always blame it on the bourbon.

*  
He hadn't even bothered to take off his shoes or his jacket. He had just dumped his school bag on the couch and raced to the shed behind the house. Inside, was the oyster's pearl, the best of the best, the boat he and Dad had been building for the past three months, just in time for his mother's birthday.

Dad had talked to him before, about how Mom was sick and how they needed to make the time they had very special, and he had heard the fights and screaming and crying at night. Yet somehow, the boat was magic. It made his troubles go, and he suspected one ride across the river would make his parents okay again too.

'Leroy, c'mere. We're gonna try to get this thing out of the shed, now. You take that end and-', Jackson Gibbs was interrupted by his wife, shouting from inside the house. 'Leroy, get back in here and clean up the mess you've made. You're almost a man and you still expect me to clean up for you?'

He groaned. He was sick of cleaning. The teacher had made him clean at school. He'd cleaned the windows of dad's store before coming home, and hadn't even gotten candy for it. Besides, he wanted to finish the boat and have it perfect, docking off the lake, so it could work its magic.

'It's your house! You should be cleaning it!', he shouted back, instantly angry and ashamed. He ran inside, past the boat and Mom, to his room, where he holed up in the closet, sneaking out of his window to go to school in the morning.

After that, the boat lost its touch. The shed's door was always shut, as if a dangerous secret was held inside. The gold dust that had temporarily settled in his world blew away, and he spent most nights alone on the couch, as Dad drove back and forth from the hospital.

On one sunny Saturday morning, he was awakened by rays of sunshine coming through the grimy blinds. They were beautiful, but it took only as much time for his eyes to adjust as it did for him to remember. The cruel world where good people die and bad guys live for eternity is nothing but beautiful.

He had last night's meatloaf for breakfast, trying not to cringe at the taste. The phone rung, that one thing that dared disturb him. 'Hello, is this Mr. Jackson Gibbs?', asks the voice on the other side. He deepens his own voice and sighs. 'Yep.' 'Mr. Gibbs, I'm very sorry to inform you, your wife passed away early this-' He's already dropped the phone. He finds some matches in the kitchen drawer and races outside again. This time, he will destroy the enemy.

The sirens ring out and flames engulf the shed, a shower of brilliance, a tribute to the most special woman in his life.

*  
He leans against the Unity, now, the name that Abby had given his latest boat. Unity, because no matter where his family is, they are all still united, by bonds blood can never break or touch. He hopes he will never have the reason to burn this one. 


	3. Ziva

AN- thanks to those who reviewed! This is my first fanfic, so I though nobody would even read!  
Anyway, a happy, fluffy, chapter now. Need a break from the sad Gibbs and tony stories.

Ziva David twirled a pencil in her fingers, bored and desperate for some action. Who knew, that she, the famed assassin could be subdued by boredom? Perhaps boredom could be used as an interrogation technique. Let them twiddle their thumbs enough that the bibles in jail cells would seem as though they really were sent from heaven.

Tony had given up and gone upstairs to ogle the women of human resources, Gibbs had gone to a tutorial meeting being held by the Cyber Crime unit on NCIS's new network, and McGee had gone to 'chill' with Abby in her lab. Ziva would never understand what the appeal of deliberately making yourself cold, but then again, 'chilling' did not seem to make McGee cold at all. What flowed through his veins, Ziva thought, must really be as Abby described it. Supernatural.

She examined the pen in her hand, imagining what sort of tasks it could be used for, other than writing. There must be at least a couple, other wise it would not have been invented. In her mind, it became everything from a syringe to a screwdriver, an new variation of a cell phone, a data stick, and finally, an object that made her grin.

A dart.

Ari had been hurling them clumsily at a colorful cork board decorated with balloons for the last hour or so, muttering swears while wishing he had a gun.

She sat cross legged on the pavement, refusing to look up at the carnival booth. Perhaps she would have, if it had only been Ari, not also her father, who worked for some big agency called Mossad, and was shouting at the brother to 'hit a damn balloon! They're still targets, boy! Are you blind, or have you never gotten what I tried to teach you through your think head?'

She grins, imagining what would happen if her mother was here. Then again, would her father lose his job if he was humiliated by being dragged home by his wife? She tells this to Tali, who is sitting beside her, drawing a lion in imaginary chalk.

It was all Tali's fault to begin with. They had been walking through the carnival, stuffing their mouths with wisps of cotton candy, when she had seen the enormous stuffed lion offered as top prize for the balloon game. Nobody could refuse Tali, and so began the men's quest. For once, she was grateful she went to school well out of Israel. This could be blackmail material.

She wonders how much money Papa must have as the sky is painted with black and the wind grows cold. The two have gained quite a following. A group of boys have bet on how many more times Ari will miss before the first star appears and what is more possible, for him to win, or for Papa's head to blow off. It does not surprise her the latter is winning.

Finally, Ziva decides she must put an end to this. She grabs Tali's hand and brings her up to the booth. She grabs a dart from Ari and prepares to throw. How hard can this be, after all? She just had to hit the red balloon, then they could all go home. She aims carefully, with that tiger's stalking eye.

She misses.

The dart never even came close to the cork board. It wobbled in the air, before sinking to the concrete. Ari laughed and shook his head in a mocking mask of disappointment. She does not let this shake her, There are still three darts left.

She takes another and contemplates the shot. 'You people think this is difficult?' ,Tali asked, bewildered at the possibility. 'Ziva, here, I will take a shot.'

The little girl snatches the dart away and throws, without thinking, with no aim. It loops in empty air, while they hold their breath, waiting for its course to end. Maybe if she misses, she will not want the lion anymore.

Pop!

'I said so! I said so!', Tali told them, flaunting her victory while Ari looked dumbfounded. The man running the game handed down her lion, grinning at Papa. 'You have quite the sharpshooter there.'

She doesn't even think about Ari's teasing later, or how much more time Papa will spend on still targets now that he has seen Ari's dismal display. All that matters, is that the mission has been completed.

Lazily, she throws her dart in the empty air of the bullpen, with a dreamy gaze in her eyes. What will she win this time? 'Ow! Ziva! Okay, okay, you're a one-man woman! But how am I supposed to look at you when I think you just dislocated my eye?', Tony cried. Oops.

'What did you say? Anthony DiNozzo, you pig!' Ziva is back to Ziva the Crazy Israeli Chick in a snap.  
'Oh, God. Okay, not the paperclips, okay? I mean, there was this one movie where...GAHHHHHHH!  
Good thing that she had worn cross trainers. Tony had been working on his Tag skills. They are no longer children. Missions mean much more then stuffed toys now. But that never means the child in them is dead.

'David! DiNozzo! What the hell is going on?' 


	4. Palmer

AN- I have Palmer this chapter, so if you think that he is a dumb character or not really part of the team, sorry because I want to do the whole team with this fic, including Kate, Jenny and Vance. Sorry if you don't like! This is a lot long, but I think my best chapter so far. Next chapter will be Abby, small crossover to Law and Order SVU.

'So, Jimmy, you like sleepovers?', Abby drawled in a mock-sexy voice, lying on her stomach in her sleeping bag, across from Palmer's. They were camped out on Autopsy's dull tile, looking up at the glittery drawers and tables.

Gibbs was in protect Abby mode, and he'd decided the best thing would be windowless, locked up autopsy. And not with Tony or McGee, damn Gibbs dirty mind.

So he'd deemed Palmer harmless enough and thrown him a sleeping bag in the bullpen, whispering menacingly, 'You can't say that the lacy argyle bra is a victim's personal effects, Palmer. And Abby doesn't get off on paint fumes. Be wise.', as he passed.

Those words were still echoing in his head as he puzzled out the response. 'Uh, um.....y'know Abby, uh-' He was interrupted by Bert the Hippo being hurled at his face. 'Hey!'

'Ugh. I don't mean like late-night, first-time-in-a-morgue-with-a-special-agent stuff. Hear me Gibbs!  
I mean like, did you ever stay over at someone's house and hang out or sleep off some hangover after some crazy party. But of course you wouldn't have hangovers, I mean, for this shy nerdy guy, you're pretty good with liquor. Sorry, I mean intellectual guy, uh, so anyway I wouldn't even be talking to you about sleepovers if Gibbs! Wasn't making me like, I can take care of myself right? I'm an adult.'

Abby ended the rant when she saw the look on Jimmy's face. 'Heh. I'm guessing you didn't get too much of that.'

He holds up his hands. 'No, uh, actually, yeah, I did once.'

Mom had come all the way through the gates of the summer camp with him, read off his impressive allergy list to the head counselor in front of the other boys, forbade him from climbing any trees, and dumped slobbery kisses all over him at dinner in the main hall. Before the first four hours of camp had passed, he was a punch bag and a laughingstock. Add that to the starched mustard yellow abomination his mother called 'respectable clothes', and he was right at absolute zero.

'Hey you.', a rough voice above him, rubbing on gravel, said. Uh-oh. He wondered how much funerals might cost if you died out-of-town. 'Smarticle kid. Your brainwaves are blinding. Mind if I share the table?' Near frozen in fear, he nods. A beefy, round, boy whose chubby face is framed by a compass of spikes sits beside him and promptly jams a ham sandwich up his mouth.

Between bites the boy, whose name is Austin fills him in on his life in New York, he rides the subway (alone) to a red brick P.S 132, with a playground and a big wall with missing persons and the FBI's most wanted list plastered on it across the loud street overflowing with headlights. Austin is going to work for the NYPD crime lad, just like his dad, who mixes chemicals that come up with the mistakes in perfect crimes and whose friends slice up dead bodies and run vials through complicated machines. Austin's mother also works for the crime lab, and he says they told him it was a good steady job. Loads of people turn up dead and there are loads of break-ins and forgeries in New York.

This is news to him. His parents are a reclusive, brilliant philosopher who believes the world will cause it's own demise and a homemaker, he goes to a white washed private school, and his mother drops him off every day. He has never seen more than four cars on the same street, and loads of people turn up at tea parties where he comes from.

The other boys join he and Austin, trading stories and baseball cards, each snippet offered to the table assembling the puzzles of their lives. 'Hey, Nerdface, what about you? What, you dad hack binary code all day? Your mom never take her Star Trek costume off? You live in a bunker?' a tanned, muscular boy from Bel-Air, where he surfs every day, named Darien laughs.

He sighs. What do you say to people who live on cruise ships and in penthouses and lakeside cottages, whose brothers are brilliant doctors and whose mothers have run marathons? His brain is electric, trying to think of a way out. He has an IQ of 163. And here he is, stumped. Wait....Click.

'Okay. But you need to promise, nobody hears about this.' Darien scoffs, but he ignores it. 'They work for the Secret Service. I can't say where I live, because last time I did, they bombed it. My dad's an agent, and I'm not supposed to say because he's lying low. But-' he glances around the hall. 'I think I can trust you. My mom... is working a government deal, so they've put me here for the summer. Don't try looking in the counselor's folder either. That's all an fake. I can't attract any attention. Just by sitting here, you guys are risking. Your. Lives.'

The others stare at him, eyes wide. 'C-can you tell us more? I mean....the not top secret stuff....like what the CIA's toilets are like?' Darien finally asks, slightly paler.

They're blue and white, boring colors that don't attract attention. But that's just the main building. The others...he can't say. He was born in Autopsy. Aliens are real, but they better not say that or they'll send snipers after them. Next month, they're sending a mission to space, and yeah, he knows Jackie Chan.

He spins lies like a top, effortless and easy. It keeps on for a long time, until lights out is announced, and they are sent to the cabins.

It's about 3:30 when Darien wakes them up. 'Guys, follow me out the window, I got something to show you.' He doesn't want to go, because it just feels bad, but he swallows and follows the procession of over sized jackets out of a window that has had the screen cut out.

Darien waits for them to all be there, watching, before he removes a gun from his inside pocket. 'Okay. Every year, we prank the girls with something a lil' scary, y'know, get their hearts pumpin'. We're just gonna shoot in the sky, no harm done.' The others nod nervously, and he fights reason to follow.

'Agent Boy, you take first shot.' Darien offers him the gun, glistening in the moonlight and heavy as his thoughts. He wonders if it's just a play gun. Probably, he told himself, breathing as he calmed down. Just a play gun. Just a prank. Then he'll really be welcomed into their circle. He takes it, and even manages to grin.

BANG!

He's surprised by the force, and lies dazed on his back, before he realizes liquid is pooling in the grass sticky and sweet, reflecting his face and those of the others screaming around him, as darien wails on the grass. They're he's scared. Not about the cops or the camp. His mother would, will, kill him. He'll be forced to be chained to a traceable ball for the rest of his life. Whatever independence he might ever have would be scrapped. He'd be a punch bag and a laughing stock in jail. God will put him in hell for hitting Darien.

All.  
Because.  
He.  
Made.  
A.  
Mistake.

He can never make mistakes again. Never make mistakes again. Never again. He's seen the worst one little lapse in judgment can do.

Abby's eyes are wide and she offers a hug to the teams Autopsy gremlin, letting him cry in the sterile silence of the morgue.

He realizes, Maybe Gibbs is like that too, just making sure he makes no mistakes, not even tiny little ones, because life is no game, you can't ever shake the board and start over or click escape when you've run out of choices. What's done is there, like a mark you can't erase, a permanent blemish that suddenly becomes the biggest thing on the map. You can't go over the old paths when your head figures out the maze.

And Abby thinks, if she lived her life like her friends, would she have saved herself from the bad decisions and the crappy boyfriends? Or would she just have locked herself into her own dark prison? She shivers at the thoughts, and cuddles closer to Jimmy, as if staying in Now will take away the scars of Before. 


	5. Abby

AN- SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!! I know that Abby grew up in New Orleans and Olivia in New York, but I am a huge Law and Order SVU fan and just had to do this. I know that a real crossover is the least possible thing ever, but hey, imagine the contrasts! Besides, this is a fanfic, and nowhere near canon. I intended this to be less of the huge crossover it is, but hey, I had to do the build up and make it all fit. Next is McGee...and a surfboard.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs hated joint cases. He especially hated joint cases involving the rape and murder of a marine in New York and the city's Special Victim's team in his bullpen, distracting his people. Mostly distracting him, which was most of the people on the team anyway.

Tony was looking up their female detective, something Benson, with his elevator peepers. Her partner was starting to look slightly pissed as McGee tried to explain tracing some suspect's actions by the guy's GPS-enabled dog collar, sputtering over his words. Ziva and a sarcastic Jewish detective were sifting through evidence boxes.

'You.', Gibbs said in his signature staccato tone with a nod towards the woman. 'Come with me, and bring that box with you. The less time you spend standing around, the quicker you can get out of here.'

Gibbs strode over to Tony. 'Back to work, DiNozzo. I better not see you spying on Ab's web cam.' He gave the senior agent a swift slap and suppressed a smirk at the slightly shocked look on the detective's face. Only at NCIS, he thought.

The rode down silently in the elevator, immediately assaulted by the first track on Abby's newest CD, the remixed theme to a song Gibbs knew, yet couldn't place. 'Hey, Abs, got you some samples here.', Gibbs shouted. Abby swung in on her swivel chair.

'Ughhhhh! NYPD Sex Crimes, right? I hate their evidence! They can't get anything straight. 'S like they just write evidence on their kid's brown bag, throw in cotton swabs with Kool-aid on them and- okay that made no sense, but can't we let the Metro crime lab handle this one?', she whined. Gibbs shrugged. 'Nope. Our case.' Abby rolled her eyes as the detective put the box on her desk.

'OH MY GOD! You totally didn't tell me you were coming!', Abby suddenly sprang up to hug her. 'Yeah, I don't call in much.' Gibbs suppressed a sigh and swished out the double doors. How on earth could those two know each other anyway?

Abby faced Olivia as she unpacked the contents of the box. 'You still like cookies?'

It was an unlikely place to meet anyone who wasn't headed straight for the FBI's most wanted wall. Unlikely place to do much of anything except pick up the chatter on the city's hottest drug spots, really, and she was stuck here, front row center ,right under a vulture-like nun re-reading the catechism for the fiftieth time this week, crunching on chocolate chip cookies.

And of course she knew, she'd been here all week. If you looked the part, people tagged on the labels like you were a Wal-Mart seven-time reduced sweater on the clearance rack and could've cared less how you acted. She'd been busted for graffiti, which she hadn't even done. All she's guilty of is buying spray paint. And who doesn't want to fit in? To not be a freak? It's a wonder the whole school hasn't latched on to the spray paint and smokes crew. They're the only ones who aren't super clones.

She occupies herself, for the time being, with listening to the chatter, mapping out the places in her head. She's the smartest kid in school, yet manages to fail every course because of things like effort and conduct. Someday, she dreams she'll have someone who appreciates it. Everything. Two hours has never been longer.

She sweeps her eyes around the dank, dusty, room. She grins when she sees a crumbling metal door, off behind a coat rack. That's where they keep the possum entrails, she laughs to herself.

Kids shuffle in and out when the nun points at them, but the room is always bursting full. Like a can full of people, ready to pop. An hour passes, that little second hand slaving away, and a small, brown haired girl choses the seat beside hers. They don't talk, of course, the vulture still circles. She grows more and more restless, ready to jump and scream and laugh.

The ancient intercom system, years beyond needing repair and way out of the school twenty dollar budget croaks out a pitiful,moaning announcement. ' Sister Merriweather...you...are needed at the main office immediately.' she stands, glaring at the kids, and slams the door on her way out.

The room erupts as though it was the fourth of July. She turns to the girl beside her. 'Hey, I'm Abby! Soooo...what are you in here for?', she asks, grinning. The other girl shakes her head. 'I'm not buying you smokes or paint. Leave me alone.', the girl replies.

She's just about to lose it. She is sick of the stereotypes and labels. 'Yeah, well, what do they say about you? I bet your Mom's hooking, right. Or do you live out of you car or something?' She once saw a fight start out of those same words, and with the memory comes the memory of flashing ambulance lights.

'It's not like she asked for it!', the other girl cried. She looks terrified, angry, and unsure of everything, really.

Her eyes widen. Oops. 'Um...asked for what?', she asks, immediately reverting back to her kind, concerned, I-have-the-numbers-of-all-the-crisis-shelters self. Then, she realizes she shouldn't have. 'Would you like cookies. We should get Sister Merry-Flabby's cookies.' She tries to quickly undo the damage. The girl aims a steely gaze at her.

She turns away, but still really does want the cookies, so she creeps under the desk and hopes the others don't notice. She slips a finger under a stack of rainbow folders and pulls at the oily bag. Cookies are like truth serum, the stuff that she's read about in her police books. They get you to talk. And she wants her desk-mate to talk. She wants to help.

She returns to front row center, and chomps through the box as she tells this girl all about her whole life. At least the big words don't scare her off.

In her criminal psychology books, this is an effective tactic. They need to relate to you. Not that she thinks this girl really is a criminal.

It's slow work, and a half hour passes with nothing. But then, Sister Meriwether is still at the office, and she takes advantage of whatever time is given. 'So my Dad was a witness for the cops before I was born. He was shot in a taxi by a guy that the defendant hired, and since he didn't leave any prints or anything, they never did anything. S'why I'm gonna be a forensic scientist when I grow up, 'cause I'm gonna make sure I find all the evidence.'

The girl's eyes seem to a light up. 'I think I'm gonna be a cop,'she mutters, reaching for a cookie. 'Because someone should always be there...for the people everyone else forgets about.'

She seems to have found a window. They talk and eat for the rest of the detention, surprised that Sister Meriwether hasn't come back. Her name is Olivia. She's in for skipping class so that she could stay home and take care of her Mom after she got mad drunk on Friday night.

She thinks of her own mother, who's a recluse up in the attic, painting pictures that never finish, that start out as little girls playing hopscotch on the clean street and end with her, dark and bloody red skies mixing with concrete, and handsome men she doesn't know becoming wild slashes with a painter's knife.

Time passes and it gets dark. The cookies are long gone, testament to a new friendship. Soon, the night janitor will kick them out. They gather their things and walk out the door of the school, falling apart, like so many things in this city, with nothing to lean on.

'Do you have a phone number? We could call each other, I think.', Olivia says, the wind biting at them. She shrugs. 'The Phone got turned off last week. But we always could go to the library, down the street. I have to finish my paper anyway.'

Olivia nods, like it's just okay, and heads off.

But it's not to her. Someday, she hopes for Justice, and for someone who will look past the black and spikes and not see a death-obsessed potential terrorist, but someone capable and challenging. Someone who can help.

Someone who is worth her place. Because she will be. Forensic Scientists didn't live in dirty motels with deaf painters. They didn't get accused of graffiti and see drugs in the coat room and not even care.

She dreams wide awake, of the lab and the books, the pictures and the equipment, and of someday being what she never had.

Olivia grins and Abby's usual perky happiness, no matter how gruesome or senseless the pictures got. The Mass Spectrometer is whirring away, and the computer is running prints. Abby seems incredibly happy, and they catch up on all the latest, the cases, the teams, and the cities over evidence bags.

'So, are you happy with everything?', Olivia finally asks. Abby doesn't hesitate to nod. Why not? She's got everything she ever wanted, respect, a cute little apartment, a job busting crime, and most of all, a wonderful family. Abby doesn't need to fall alone anymore.

Olivia stares up at the ceiling, decorated with little cardboard bats. She wishes she could say the same. 


	6. McGee

'Is this even legal?', Timothy McGee asked Tony, who was reclined in his office chair, chewing on gum, doodling on a memo, and watching what looked like a twelve-year-old in a bikini surfing a high wave in Hawaii.

'McFilthy Mind! She's my cousin.',Tony said, the gears in his brain already working to turn this into a humiliating experience for the team geek. 'Besides, I mean, look at that skill. She makes it look easy, huh, McWipeout?' The girl rode the wave to shore, strode to the camera, and gave it a huge wave.

'Told ya I got better!', she giggled into the lens, the golden sun glinting off her newly-highlighted blond hair. 'That you did, Les!', Tony joked. He turned back to Tim and shrugged. 'Don'cha just love how far technology's come? I mean, it's all digital now, right, McMegabyte? Like, oh I don't know... when you were a kid, it would've been pictures. But hey, Picasso's still got merit, don't you think?', he said, barely able to keep a straight face. He pulled the Polaroid from his jacket pocket and held it up to Tim's face.

'TONY!'

It was a beautiful California morning, the sun shining in strained rays, just before rush hour hit, but well after dawn. Lawn chairs had already been dragged out by the beer-cooler crowd, and children played in the sand and sloshed in the foam. Sarah had already began her sand city, modeled after early Renaissance Italy, and he held the book open, carving out detailed windows and little lines with a toothpick.

'Hey, Timmy! C'mon out! The waves are great this early!', Jenner, the rugged looking boy from one of the older beach houses shouted, dragging an enormous board behind him. 'You can't check out the beaches without trying once, man!'. He replied to the slight look of fear on his face. He shook off the feeling, swallowing and hoping that maybe it really was as easy as the others made it look.

Leaving the book with Sarah, he ran up the beach. Making friends here would definitely make him the coolest of the GATE Junior Program's class. Way different from meeting the guy who created Star Trek. Who would come back in the fall saying they'd surfed a real wave?

'Cool.', Jenner said, slapping his hand with a grin. 'Hey, do yourself proud, man.' Jenner jerked his head over to a group of girls on beach towels. Marissa, who family the McGee's had shared the summer house with for years, and maybe that special girl 'who you can't get in a single equation' (as the others at home said it) waved at him. He nodded, instantly invincible. Do this, and he wasn't just the super nerd you were obliged to be nice to.

He and Jenner got wet first, waiting for the waves. 'T, that's all yours.' Jenner pointed to a roll on the horizon. He took the board from the sand, and paddled out, trying to clam himself, at the same time thinking 'What are you doing?!'

He went under, like he'd seen Jenner do. Wasn't so hard when you- in a pure rush, he was on top, ready to stand on that sheet of water. Marissa was grinning, Sarah sat with her legs crossed and her tan arms behind her head, watching. Someone had a camera-CLICK!

He had timed to stand just then- Kshhhhh!

He hit the water, a flailing, screaming mess. It rolled him mercilessly, washing away that yellow slice of wood. His lungs burned, his eyes stinging from the salt. This is why nobody ever says they surfed a wave at GATE, he thought miserably, hoping that Sarah would be granted his Power Rangers collection without contest.

'Timmy! Timmy!', he heard a girl's high pitched, anguished cries, felt a wiry hand on his arm, pulling him from the water. 'Are you dead?', Sarah screamed. 'Of course he's not.', chuckled a teasing voice. Marissa. Aw, Come on! He thought. This close to death and still humiliated. Great. He sat up, coughing. 'That was pretty funny.', Marissa said, smiling. He sighed. 'Uh, right. Messed up, huh?' She shook her head, throwing him a beach towel. 'Not as bad as it could've been. I mean, sometimes, the whole point is taking that chance.'

Surely stabbing Tony with a stapler wasn't too big a risk. It would endear him to quite a few actually. 'Tony, put that away. Seriously. It was a long, long time ago, and it's better nobody at this office-' Tony leaned back on hes keyboard, accidentally tapping a the back button. 'TONY!' Tim dived for that little memento, desperate enough to at least destroy the hard copy, even if the little 'Message Sent Successfully icon was blinking at the bottom of 'NCIS PRIORITY MAIL≈OPERATION BIG(splash)MC. 


	7. Ducky

Ducky's chapter now. Little weird, written at night.

It was on these cold, midwinter nights that Donald Mallard would help himself to a cup of tea and catch up on the week's television reruns. Abby had talked incessantly about the week's CSI, which according to his guide, would be replaying in the next hour. He channel surfed in the dimly lit room, batting away the corgis.

An familiar title sequence played on the screen. 'Hm. I suppose this is better than that depressing evening news.', he told the dogs. 'If Jethro collects the DVD's, then this will certainly do for us, no?', he chuckled.

His memories were of a huge house on the Scottish moors, filled with books and the air of eccentricity.  
On Sunday Mornings, after Church, Mother would sit with him in the library, pulling down ancient texts from the high shelves. Little facts and bits of trivia were memorized from the stacks of paper.

The design of Native American arrows, the lineage of King George, the engine of an automobile were all recreated in that room, with items from the shops and things found lying in the roads ,and given little imaginative nicknames.

He never thought any of it was strange at all, until she had brought skeleton the home. It was all strung up on a stand, a white shining skull grinning at him through the bowler mother had put on it's head. 'Well, I suppose you've got to start about people, Donald. Quite an interesting study, so I've heard. By next week, we'll have this poor man here all drawn up in a nice chart.'

He gulped. Lately, there'd been a cluster of murders in the next village over, transient men mostly. Knowing his mother's tendency to find use out of any old abandoned object, he really had to wonder if they were engaging in criminal activity. And considering his slightly overactive imagination, suspicions were building quickly. Mother dumped a large Gray's Anatomy on the table. 'This is a little gift from that professor down the street. The one with the corgi puppies? Must remind me to buy one of those!'

At first, the body scared him, but slowly, he began to think. If this was a murder victim, could he perhaps study it and find who had killed him? Maybe then, if he went to the police, they would never even consider that anything his mother had done was criminal. Yes....what a good idea.

In the next week, a crude drawing took shape on the Mallard's floor, meticulously labeled and measured. He was looking for a murderer now, and one didn't make mistakes in looking for murderers.  
He wrote little tiny notes in the sides, of what the mans life and death could have been like. Perhaps he was sliced apart, the glued together to be put on display by three witches to their coven.

On one Tuesday, Mother had one of her 'distinguished friends from the university' over for tea. 'Ah. I've come for my body.', the deep gravelly voice at the door said. It sounded like the type of man who would mercilessly hack a man apart, the put him on display.

He could hear mother leading the man up. He bit his lip, shoving his sketch away and ducking behind a box. 'I apologize for the mess, Mr. Chadwick. My son has been making some notes.'

The 'Mr. Chadwick' thumbed through the sketchpad left on the floor. 'Very good for his age, I must say.  
Oh, Donald didn't think that that old thing was a murder victim, did he? One of my students outright accused me of those happenings down south. What young minds conceive puzzles me!' He felt a blush creep up his face. 'No, this old chap was a privileged gentleman, charitable, even in death. I find that once the students imaginations calm down, he's quite a valuable teaching aid.'

Beet-red, he crouched even lower in the corner. To think that he assumed those things! 'Donald! What are you doing in the corner? Mr. Chadwick here finds your observations exceptional, and you hide in a corner?', Victoria Mallard was suddenly above him.

The professor, as if reading his mind, grinned. 'These are nice, son. However, morbid imagining best have their place in horror novels. If you'll note, his bones were not sliced apart and glued back together. There would be signs of that kind of trauma.', Mr. Chadwick pointed out, adding to his deep blush.

Jethro would have enjoyed that man, who also counted 'Do not assume' as one of his personal rules.  
Ducky however, doubted Jethro was enjoying this. Izzie was seeing Denny in little hallucinations, and God knew how much Jethro hated hallucinations.

He grinned at the ring of the phone[likely his old friend complaining] and sighed. Perhaps the old saying was true. The smallest things, a little false murder, discussing soaps with a federal agent, really were the biggest. Because they were the foundation, the base, for the job, the friendship, the promise that there would always be something to build on, something to work for. For now, he was contended with this, enough to weather Jethro's rant, he thought. 


	8. Kate

Kate Todd would've usually liked to go shopping. This was all before she found out that Shopping with McGee equaled slow, painful torture that nibbled away at the corners of your brain, persistently hacking away at sanity.

The Probie had a Date with Abby, and Kate, the best friend, had been forced to go with him to a quaint strip of shops deep in the city. Really. Gibbs had left two fifty bills under her coffee. She silently reminded herself that she'd never rush into a house and accidentally say CSI over NCIS. If this was the first offense...well, the risks were just too big.

'Hey, Kate, how's this?', Tim asked, holding up a piece of lingerie beyond description. They were in Sears now, just a couple blocks from the Navy Yard, both McGee and Kate giving up on the shops after they'd been chased out of a Future Shop and told not to harass the Geek Squad. Kate knew McGee couldn't help it.

Sighing, she shrugged. 'Tell me what it is, McGee, I'll tell you if Abby already has one.' McGee frowned. 'Jesus. We're girls. We go through each others closets. Hanging with Tony?', she replied with a slight smile.

He considered it for a moment, then returned the thing to a rack. 'How about-' He was cut off by Kate raising a hand. 'I see Starbucks in the future. Coffee, Now.'

Kate just about pushed him out of the store and into the familiar coffee shop. She ordered the necessary Caffeine of course and a bag of Brownies. She needed the chocolate.

'Abby's gonna be mad.', Tim groaned, breathing in steam. Kate munched through a couple brownies. 'Y'know, Tim, maybe you don't need to give her a thing.', she said through Chocolate dough.

She was convinced Jesse McDonald was the best thing since sliced bread. Or at least peanut butter and jelly. The boy was mysterious in that way that a dark forest was, never speaking and silently drifting through life, yet she'd always felt like she'd known him.

He did something to his hair that made it stick up in all the right places, tousled, yet still clean. And his eyes won her over. They were sharp when he looked on from far away, but when you looked Jesse straight in the face, his eyes were soft pools of blue light.

Jesse loved music, and he would spend hours on the shore, sitting on a barrel, hunched over a guitar. She would watch him, but only passing glances. Any more would scream stalker. Eventually, on a gloomy overcast afternoon, she did get the courage to approach that barrel. She stood silently beside him, letting the chords vibrate through the sand in her toes.

Jesse's song finished and he tilted his head up to look at her. He blinked, but didn't speak. Instead, he opened his case and passed her a single piece of paper, with the lyrics to a song on the reverse. She took it, the paper still heavy with...him. His touch and scent.

Wordlessly, Jesse Put the guitar back in the case and turned up the beach, his footprints washed away by the late surf.

She studied those lyrics in her room, running over the title on her tongue. ' If I could Say'. It was about a boy wishing he had the power to change things and people, yet knew he never could. It was strangely bittersweet and slightly even heartbreaking.

The next week, she'd snatched a song about Sunshine from a songbook at school and folded it into her pocket.

It was almost like the first time. He played, she waited, and then he reached into the case. She tapped his shoulder and held up the paper in front of that beautiful face. Jesse paused, then took it from her.  
He laid it out in his lap and stuck a hand back into the open case. He offered her another sheet and nodded.

Just like the first time though, he was gone, his trail vanishing underwater.

It was like that for weeks, months, years. They exchanged the lyrics on that shore, then later by mail when they were in school, and email when she joined the CIA and he moved to the UK. They never really spoke beyond those words on the page. There were no formalities, no hi-hello's on the headers.

He had her number, yet never called. Somehow though, he gave her more every week than any king could have tried to.

'It's sweet, Kate, but Abby. I mean, what do I do, Google Android Lust?', Tim sighed. Kate shook her head. 'Give her what you can, Tim. Show her yourself. Make sure she knows that you can be right beside her forever, if that's what she wants.' McGee considered this. 'I'll make her my Mom's famous meatloaf. I mean, Women love guys who cook, right?' Kate groaned.

Much, much later, Jesse did call. It was, to Kate, any other morning, she pulled a light brown sweater over her head, brushed her hair, and was right in the middle of pulling on a pair of matching slacks when the phone rung. 'Caitlin Todd speaking,', she said, on leg in her pants. '

'Hey, Kate. This is, uh, it's Jesse McDonald.', his voice sounded like honey on gravel. Even all these years later, her mind called up the image of his face and made her flush. 'Oh, God. Jesse. Hi. Hello. I'm sorry. I was just going to work.' There was a laugh on the other side.

'Is this a bad time?' 'Oh. No, no, my boss can wait.' 'You tell federal agents to wait for you? Nice, Kate'  
'The guy lives in his Basement on Coffee and Bourbon. He Can wait'  
'Uh-huh. Not to keep you on, I just gotta tell you something'  
'Shoot'  
'Kate, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Got two months to live. I.. My parents are dead. The wife and I broke up years ago. My kids don't know me. I just wanted to tell you to...y'know, live your life fully. You gotta just stare death in the face and say well, here I am. Y'know what I mean? You can't live scared, okay, Kate? You can't lie down and expect thing to come for you. So, Fight hard, girl. The nurse is coming, so I gotta...well, bye. Kate.'

She can't even say goodbye when the phone clicks off.

Later, his words ring in her head when her heart is pounding, right after she's saved Gibbs from a bullet. She's grinning, between Tony and the boss, joking, telling herself to breathe when the next shot comes.

'You've just gotta stare death in the face and say here I am.' 


	9. Vance

AN-Since this fic is near closing, I wanted to ask you guys, should there be a Jenny chapter? I already have the epilogue lined up, but should I do one for the dead director or just leave it? Tell me what you think in reviews!

Champions are made from something they have deep inside them-a desire, a dream, a vision.~Mohamed Ali

Special Agent Gibbs stomped down the stairs, having just been released from MTAC, and Vance. With Jenny, he would have taken every spare moment of his day up there,trying and failing to understand charts on screens over black coffee and the occasional view of her behind. He glared at an intern on his way up, obviously terrifying the young man, as papers and folders flew on the catwalk.

'McGee!', he called. The agent's head shot up from a mess of fast food wrappers. 'Just getting lunch boss! I mean....uh not that the case isn't more important, because it is, it's just that-' 'McGee!' 'Yeah, Boss!'

Gibbs sighed. 'Forget the case. I need you to grab Abby and find me some information.' 'But..uh, on it,  
McGee weakly replied. 'I need a name.' Gibbs leaned into the team geeks face. 'Leon Vance. And you will pay if he hears we had this conversation.'

Tim gulped.

'Leon Vance...Leon, Leon.' Google yielded standard results, high school newspaper articles, the NCIS website, a personal page set up by his wife. Just to be safe, he'd also Googled Tony and his dentist, just to make it look like he'd been bored. Pretty high heart rate for being bored.

'Tim! Tim! Oh my God. You will Not believe what I found!', Abby, via webcam shouted. Tim's head whipped back. 'Ugh, Abby don't do that! I'm coming down now.'

Abby spun to meet Tim on her newest pair of combat boots, which Gibbs had ordered painfully online from her favorite shop. 'Okay, so nothing in the databases and Google. Plus it would be totally creepy and wrong if he had a facebook, so I started looking at stuff that isn't out in the open. Case in point, juvenile records. Apparently, these were expunged, but that's just the paper copy. Check this out!'

'Kid, you cannot keep doin' this. What the hell, this is the sixth time this month we picked ya up for doin' some kind of crime.', Sheriff Gates shouted as he slammed the door to interrogation. 'What's you problem, son?', he asked, softening as the door shut.

'Ain't your's to know, old man. I'm gonna drink if I wanna drink. I'm gonna drive if I wanna drive. You ain't holdin' me for stealing you chicken nuggets.', he said defiantly.

'Yeah, really?', the Sheriff shouted, spit flying from his mouth as anger boiled inside him. 'You're a runaway little cretin, y'know that? You're never going anywhere with that fat mouth, so you better get used to the buddies you make in holding, boy.'

'Put him in with the other kids.', he ordered the uniforms at the door. ' And contact the parents.', Sheriff Gates added. He didn't know what that kid had inside, what he dealt with, or what made it all spill out like black oil on a placid lake.

The others hadn't touched him in the cell. Hadn't even said a word after he'd said the name of the gang his cousins were in. It was strange like that, as though the gang gave him more of a mark than his own name. They stood for him, backed him when the only others who even knew he existed were census officials and a woman he barely knew, who worked fifteen hour days at some dead end place. Made him memorize some dead white guy quotes, like words were gonna make him strong.

As if. The world was all gonna go to hell anyway, he just wanted to be able to say he'd felt the pure rush of real life before he came crashing back to the streets. He wondered what it'd be this time. He'd gotten kicked out of boarding school, banned from the Resource Center, and fired from every job he could get. They'd probably put him in the system. Like those other guys on his block, who'd been gone for months and come back bragging they'd given a cop lip. Some cops.

The night wore on and people were pulled out for arraignments and release. Release. Was there ever really any release? You just got swept back in again, here again, churned back out. There was no white picket fence dream, no diploma hanging on your wall, no wife that loved you and wouldn't run off the moment you got broke, and if you got to keep your kids, they'd just follow in your every footstep.

The others talked about how many times they'd been right here, how many times they'd gotten away with some horrible thing or another,complete with all the gory details.

God, half these kids were too young to even like girls, he thought, increasingly disgusted at what he was becoming a part of. 'Hey, you really with those guys from 12 th street? Whoa, man.', a boy who looked as though he had dropped out of the fifth grade said, trying to sound cool, yet miserably failing with a high, thin voice.

He looked down. The status was no longer a symbol of strength or a shield from reality. It was proof he had dug himself into a rut with no turning back. May as well decide right at that moment which arm he wanted prison tattoos on.

He leaned back on the concrete wall, breathing slow, playing over those old dreams. Then it hits him. One of those old quotes. He's only gotta keep moving forward, start being who the voice inside his head is, and less what the look in his eye says he is. He looks back at the kid. He probably dreamed of being in here, acting all cool when they let him off for being so young.

If dreams like that come true, he thinks, staring up at the empty gray ceiling, his has to.

'Oh my God, Abby, this is huge! I mean it's like Gibbs' ultimate blackmail material! I mean this is Huge!', Tim exclaimed, eyebrows raised as he read the file. 'I'll call Gibbs.', he said jubilantly. Take that, Vance, he thought as his fingers reached for the speed dial.

'Tim, No!', Abby protested, grabbing his arm. 'We can't tell Gibbs. We can't tell anyone. I mean, we all hate him, but there are all things in our pasts that nobody needs to know. He has a wife and a kid, Tim, think about them. We can't just take away everything he worked for, even if maybe it is destroying what it used to be like.', she blurted out, eyes pleading, growing quieter at the end.

McGee sighed. He hates to admit it as much as he hated Cyber Crime, but his hyper Goth hacker is right. He takes a deep breath and hits the button.

'Gibbs? Uh, sorry boss, we didn't find anything. No, even Abby didn't. Looks like this one's a dead end.' 


	10. Epilouge

AN- I decided not to do a Jenny chapter after all. She wasn't anyone I particularly watched, and I didn't want to mess up her reputation/history with fans. As promised, here's the epilogue.

HEAVY Tiva warning. Father/Daughter Gabby warning. Sad Stuff warning. Very Long. The timeline is very screwed up.

In a strange way, Mcbabyface's words had managed to send the agency into a bit of a rage. Agents talked picnics and snowboarding in the halls, over the usual chatter of gun models and Marine jerks. E-mail inboxes were filled with embarrassing memoirs disguised as agency memos, and as a result, McGee and Abby were swamped with 'please hack something or do something or press some damn red button and get rid of it!' requests.

Tony rubbed at his black eye in the reflection of the compact he'd swiped from Ziva's desk. Who would've thought the Crazy Mossad Ninja chick had a thing for M.A.C? He shut the compact, looking up to his partners desk, wondering if she had noticed. She was laughing at some e-card Abby had sent to the team.

Nothing at all like the crying wreck she'd been on the phone last week when the latest, serious, non-criminal boyfriend had broken up with her because of her dark history, or the girl pretending she didn't care and she didn't remember when she'd hit him with her pen/dart.

He was really, truly, happy. Tony wonders if she was ever like this before NCIS, if anyone ever made her laugh and smile like a little girl before the team. He wishes he didn't have to say the team.

He wishes, right at that moment, as people buzz around MTAC above and the bullpen, that it was him. He wishes he was brave enough to cross the carpet and ask her out. Mature enough not to tease her relentlessly and take her things. Man enough to be there for her when her world collapsed to dust. He wishes he could start over with her.

Yet somehow, that doesn't keep him from chucking the compact at her head like a little boy. It hits with the kind of accuracy she commands with bullets and is met with a startled cry.

'DiNozzo!', a harsh voice shouts. 'Boss!', he snaps at attention. Jethro Gibbs is closer to his face than he ever has been, and Tony can smell the Starbucks.

'You will pick that up and you will put it on her desk. You will not touch her things again, or there will be consequences.' Oh my God. Gibbs knows. Tony thinks. And he's giving you a chance, here smart guy! He gulps and nods, scampering to the floor, closing his hand around the thing before Ziva even bends down from her chair.

'Uh, my hand slipped there. Sorry Dah-veed.' He grins sheepishly. Ziva snatches it back and returns to her computer. Gibbs passes the both of them. Oh God. I broke a rule. Here comes the concussion. Tony's thoughts race with the endless possibilities. What on earth will the boss do to him?

He braces for the headslap, but instead gets a look. A different, non-Gibbs look. Like he understands, he's okay with it, and he trusts his agent to grow up and make good on it. It scares Tony a bit, even.

Ziva stares up at the silent exchange, wondering what is going on. There's so much that confuses her about the man, the self described sexy devil, the movie nut, the hardened agent, and the scared little boy. She wonders if he's accepted her, if he hates her, the shadowy replacement of his old partner, or if he wants something more.

If he does, she thinks, will she be enough for him? Or will she be just another conquest, thrown away in time?

He scares her, makes her laugh, cry, and wake in the middle of the night. But he also make her want to let go and fall, just so she can try what real love feels like in his arms. She hasn't known what that was like since Tali died.

'So it went not an inch beyond hugging last evening?', Ducky questioned his assistant over the body of a dead Lance Corporal. 'No! I mean, no. Abby and I just talked about, uh, sleepovers last night, actually.' Palmer said, not realizing what the sentence implied until after it was out of his mouth. The ME's eyebrows shot through the roof.

'Not..Not like that, We were talking about, uh, kids stuff.' 'Is this slang for some kind of sexual activity?' Palmer threw up his hands and sent his scalpel flying into a biohazard disposal bin.

'Look, Dr. Mallard, what is your problem? It was once in here, okay! It was a mistake and I don't just lie down on your table and do anything with breasts!'

Ducky shrugged. 'Mr. Palmer, if you made the mistake once, you may well be bound to do it again. I'm simply covering all my bases here, and making sure you can resist whatever sort of temptation you may encounter.' Palmer winced. Then he remembers what Abby told him last night, about mistakes and misjudgments. It's all a bit cloudy, but he thinks he has the gist of it.

'Dr. Mallard, what've you done in your life? What kind of mistakes have you made? Because judging from just what you've been in this week, I don't think you'd like to be judged on it. So yeah, I did a few thing with Agent Lee. I owned up to it. I made a few promises to myself. I learned my lesson. What'd you do? Keep everything you did in Afghanistan a secret and hope you'd die with it? I mean, who knows what you've done in this very room?' He stormed out of Autopsy, brushing past Agent Gibbs.

'Trouble at home, Duck?', the younger man asked, looking back at Palmer, taking a breath in the hall. Ducky looks at him with level eyes. 'I suppose that young man deserves congratulations. He has once again set my assumptions straight.'

'So that's how you two know each other?', Gibbs said incredulously. 'Yeah, I guess so. And don't even think what I think you're thinking, she's clean. Olivia and Me are a lot different from when we were kids.'

They were in his musty old basement, Gibbs with his bourbon and Abby with a bowl of spaghetti. He worked on the boat, and she talked, her voice echoing against the walls, occasionally met with a grunt or a chuckle. The Unity was coming along nicely in Gibbs' words, though for Abby to say a boat was coming along nicely meant she had to see it float.

'How did you ever get the boats out of this place anyway?', she asked herself more than the boss, going through hypotheses in her head. Secret Door? Gibbs Magic? U-haul?

He took a step back and considered the question. Abby looked eagerly at him, the look she gave her machines, willing them to work faster. 'Hacked them to pieces and burned 'em in the fireplace.', he admitted. Abby's eyes widen and she shakes her head.

'But Gibbs! You can't just burn something that you made!', she protests, throeing up her hands. 'If I made it, Abs, I'll wreck it. I still got that right.' He doesn't like where this conversation is headed.

'No you can't! Or don't. Or whatever! Gibbs! Everything stands for something and you can't just destroy it because oh...' Abby suddenly realizes whats been puzzling her for months. 'You burnt Jenny! And Shannon and Kelly and Stephanie!', she cries, shocked and angry that he could do such a thing. Gibbs sighs.

'So what if I did? Abby, listen to me. You have got to start growing up and realizing the world doesn't bend for you. You lose some, and you win some. You deal with what you lose. Do you-Abby!' He's being crushed by one of her killer hugs, her pigtails rubbing at his neck.

'You burned them so you could forget they ever existed, right? Gibbs, they do exist, even if they're dead, there's still everything they were in life that's still here! You can't forget that!'

And that's what breaks him. Her sweet clear voice, stained with tears, ringing out in this prison he's built for himself. He hugs her closer, knowing she'll be fine once he puts her own little world back in order. She reminds her of a lifetime ago, of the same things he had to fix when someone else came running into his arms.

'That's why I built this one.', he whispers. 'Promise you won't burn it?' Abby breaks away and glares at Gibbs, begging for an answer. 'Nope.' Abby retreats back to the staircase with a tiny grin.

'Okay, bur how are we really gonna get it out? I mean, we can always build a trapdoor. I know one guy from Habitat for Humanity who...' her voice trails into the night, and he smiles.

'So, uh, Director Vance, why did you want me up here?', Tim McGee asked the man, half turned away from him. 'Needed to ask you a few questions, McGee.'

Vance faces the agent, and fixes him with a grim look. 'So, some things have been flying around the intranet lately. Would you know anything about that?' McGee shook his head, more terrified of Vance than he'd ever been of some perp with a .45 in his face. 'Oh the memos? I think it was just a agency flame war thing that got out of hand.', he offers nervously.

Vance turns the monitor toward him. The surf picture Tony had broadcast to the entire Navy Yard was blown up on Vance's Outlook. 'Uh, oh, that was just something Tony-uh, Agent DiNozzo sent around. Y'know, a prank.' 'I'll bet you didn't like the entire agency seeing that, did you Agent? McGee shakes his head. 'Well, uh, I'll see what I can do about stopping all this. Maybe a filter or-' Vance stops him with a stone cold look.

Seconds, Minutes, hours, seem to pass between them. 'All I mean to say, Agent McGee is that perhaps you know the value of letting some things stay in the past. Do we have an understanding?' McGee is too dazed to do anything but nod. 'Then you're free to go.'

'Ouch. McGee's gonna be scared out of his wits for weeks.'

'I would not count on that. He has survived being held hostage in a prison, yes? He will recover.'

'This guy makes Gibbs look like a choirboy. I mean honestly, this fired up over a juvie record?'

'Government agencies can do that to you.'

'The paranoia or the macho-man idiocy? Because looks to me like you find all that on the streets.'

'I see what this Gibbs liked about you!'

'Yet he still burns my boat. I'm content to think the bourbon was behind that.'

'Mommy, mommy, who's that girl with Daddy? Why is wearing one of his old shirts?'

'Oh. That's Daddy's scientist friend, dear.'

'Abby, oh, Abby. Still my girl.'

'Who is this Abby?'

'Mommy, they look really happy down there, and look, he's building another boat!'

'That's very nice. I suppose it's about time someone made him smile.'

'They also look as though they enjoy each other's company, also. It is interesting to Ziva actually feel for someone.'

'Ha, it's interesting to see a woman from JAG go by without Tony turning the bullpen into an ocean. We've all missed a lot, haven't we?'

'Maybe, maybe not. I mean, look at all that. We're just seeing the beginnings of something great, ladies.'

THE END!!

Try to guess who's speaking in the dialogue at the end!! And please review if you feel like it! 


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